


A Whisper From In Between

by Enterthetadpole



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Becoming Lovers, Crossover, Drug Use, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 09:10:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21443761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enterthetadpole/pseuds/Enterthetadpole
Summary: When worlds collide in more than one way, two sets of men have to make it through and back to the other side.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	A Whisper From In Between

**Author's Note:**

> I have always loved both the BBC Sherlock series and the Downey version of the Sherlock Holmes fandoms. This is my first attempt at this type of story, so encouragement and kudos are always encouraged!

London 1895

Sherlock had a plan, because of course he did. 

His reflection of what had caused the momentary shift inside the frontal lobe of his mental faculties to go temporarily stagnant was now stunningly clear. Now that the dust has settled over the crime scene, it was odd to see himself as just another casualty. Yet there he was, laid out on the mattress and as still and confused as any victim he had walked around and observed. His dark eyes scanning the kissed bruised lips and sweat filled hair and already knowing that this murdered party knew it’s killer. Sherlock had always known who would finally be the only one proficient and calculated enough to break down his defenses from the inside out. 

Dr. John Watson of, up until six months ago, 221B Baker Street did _ not _ love him. 

Perhaps Sherlock was being overly dramatic. He was good at that. _ Brilliant at it actually _, if that same Dr. Watson was still here to add in his unsolicited opinion. Sherlock wasn’t actually dead and cold in some unmarked grave. On the contrary. Even now he was way too hot, sticky and uncomfortable to be anything other than incredibly alive and even worse, ashamedly human. 

He wiggled his fingers and toes to cement the point. Yes, unfortunately still alive. A bloom of heat in his lower belly still ebbed in a want that wasn’t able to be understand logistics. John was_ not _ coming back tonight. Or any night if the relentless regret in his expression were any indication. It was the inevitable conclusion that all parties arrived to when they have decided to sleep with Sherlock Holmes. 

\-----

London 2015

Sherlock had a plan, because of course he did.

His reflection of what had caused the momentary shift inside the frontal lobe of his mental faculties to go temporarily stagnant was now stunningly clear. The last three weeks tiptoed around until the inner circle of their shared universe had finally crashed and Dr. John Watson had pulled the trigger of what both of them had always known was an eventuality. Somewhere among the tears and moans, Sherlock’s ears strained enough to hear the muffled proclamation from John’s mouth that he knew had been there since _ Afghanistan or Iraq? _

Dr. John Watson of 221B Baker Street loved him. 

That was fine. This was _ all _ fine. Somewhere inside of Sherlock’s brain that was taking stock of how to make the _ John Watson section _ of his mind palace even larger understood this. Had even revealed in the feeling of a retired army doctor so warm and solid against his chest. How surgical hands made to put patients back together could also so expertly pull him apart at the seams, yet his transport was still somehow earthbound.

He wiggled his fingers and toes to cement the point. Orgasms now more than just theoretical frameworks. Sherlock shifted his light eyes and was graced with strands of golden blonde hair settled over the cooling pillowcase. A souvenir of what was always meant to be. It was just up to Sherlock to not destroy this by being - _ him _. That would take resources that Sherlock would begin to scroll through, one phone contact at a time. 

\---

London 1895

It wasn’t a solution. Cocaine was never a solution. It was a tool to be used to narrow the scope of the problem, and this was an obvious problem. Sherlock dressed in a whirl as he began to find the bits and pieces of what would be needed to start the necessary dismantling of what John Watson sounded like when he groaned in pleasure. How his mustache was so much softer than Sherlock had ever imagined in the nights he touched himself to completion. His mind echoed with all of it. As if the fingerprints left on his skin were burned in and would leave oval scars that Sherlock would see for the rest of his days. 

This would not be the way he spent whatever time he had left. Broken in the folds of bed covers and waiting for a letter that would never come. The only person who cared about his need to drown out the voices of logic and casework was no longer here to shame or distract him. That was all the better then.

Cocaine would be the way that Sherlock Holmes would forget John Watson.

\---

London 2015

It wasn’t a solution. Cocaine was never a solution. It was a way to make himself something that John would want to explore. A road map of dark curls and slender trails and mark with lovely destinations that John would want to revisit more than thousands of times. Once upon a time, John had called him _ a machine _. Unable to see past deductions and reliable facts. Now John had seen what Sherlock could be when his brain was overloaded with too much data, and his heartbeat grow stronger to compensate for the loss. 

For Sherlock to quiet the cogs within his skull was the least he could do. To prove to John that he was more than swishing Belstaff and sharp observations. If _sentiment _was able to be held tightly in his hand until it softened his rougher edges. 

Cocaine would be the way that Sherlock Holmes would remember John Watson.


End file.
